It is a horrifying moment that has sent shockwaves around the world. Videos posted to social media show the American conservative political activist Charlie Kirk speaking into a handheld microphone while seated under a white tented gazebo.
It’s broad daylight and he’s debating at a Q&A with students at Utah Valley University in America. A single gunshot cracks across the campus, and Kirk topples off his chair, as blood gushes from the left side of his neck. He’s been fatally shot. All that can be heard is screams from the 3,000-strong crowd.
Kirk was speaking at the first stop on Turning Point USA’s American Comeback Tour on Wednesday at around 12.20pm when authorities said the lone shooter fired from a high roof.
The worst thing about it? His wife Erika and the couple’s two young children were reportedly present at the event – and they have lost their dad forever.
It has caused a nationwide fallout. President Donald Trump filmed a statement from the Oval Office following his death, saying the assassination of Kirk is “a dark moment for America” and blaming the “radical left”. Twenty-two-year-old Tyler Robinson was arrested 33 hours after the shooting.
While much of the focus has moved away from the shocking assassination itself to the fallout of a divided America on the verge of a civil war, only one thing really matters.
How is his widow going to face the agony of having to talk to their young children about their dad’s brutal death, and why he’s not around?
It’s something I have had to do with my children, Lola, nine, and Liberty, seven – and it’s hell.
Erika, a podcaster and 2012 Miss Arizona pageant winner, married Kirk in 2021. They have a three-year-old daughter, whom they refer to online as “GG”, and a 16-month-old son.
Jack Posobiec, a contributor to Kirk’s Turning Point USA organisation, spoke to NewsNation this week about how Kirk’s family are coping, telling the outlet: “Erika is unbelievably strong”. “At the same time,” he added, “someone’s going to have to explain to his son and daughter why their dad didn’t come home yesterday.”
Right now, Erika will be in shock – as I was that day I came home and found my partner Alex dead. My situation was different; Alex took his own life rather than being killed, but it’s still as brutal and horrific.
Alex and I had done five failed attempts of IVF and were embarking on the sixth when he killed himself out of the blue after a bout of depression. Yet I refused to give up – as he tragically had. My maternal call was so strong and I was desperate to keep part of him alive, that I went on to have his two children via IVF using his frozen sperm.
Like Kirk’s children, mine too will never know their dad, or have any idea of who he is, other than what they are told about him.
But they still forever ask me: “Why did Daddy die?” Lola cried the other night: “If only I could just see my Daddy once…”
I still struggle to tell them the details. I’m never sure when it is age-appropriate to talk about suicide, and I worry it will take away their childhood innocence. And answering their questions never gets any easier.
The other night, Lola lay in bed and said. “He wasn’t that old – why did Daddy die then?” ”Yes,” said Liberty, “Grandpa lived until 92. So why did Daddy die? Was he ill?”
I am left speechless – as always. I had no idea until recently that they often wish he were here. “But you’ve got a double mummy,” I say, trying to make it OK. It’s heartbreaking listening to their grief. But as soon as I look at them, I know I did the right thing in having them.
All we are left with is his self-portrait hanging on the wall. They know what they are missing out on because I tell them all about Alex.
I know I need to explain it fully and complete the puzzle for my children because, like Kirk’s kids, they may hear about it elsewhere and get inaccurate or confusing information.
I’ve planned it so many times in my mind. I’ve been on the verge of telling them that when a person dies by suicide, their mind was sick and they were not able to think clearly and make good decisions.
But it won’t fill that gaping hole left by being fatherless and the legacy of violence – whether self-inflicted or not. It weighs heavily on me to be their only parent. But at the end of the day, Alex lives on in them.
When a death is brutal, sudden and violent, it’s incomprehensible. Kirk’s children, as mine will one day, will have to come to terms with the shocking truth of what happened to their father. Yet I hope they find the peace I’ve found, understanding that death never really makes sense – however it happens.
If you are struggling to cope, please call Samaritans for free on 116 123. Other sources of support are listed on the NHS help for suicidal thoughts webpage. Support is available around the clock, every day of the year
